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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229638">To Learn Three Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat'>BuzzCat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Belated) Cablanca Week 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Knives Out (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:41:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuzzCat/pseuds/BuzzCat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At a socialite party, Benoit runs into Marta and learns three things. First, she is beautiful. Second, he's an idiot. And third...third he learns at the very end.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(Belated) Cablanca Week 2020 [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Learn Three Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 7 - Free Choice</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Benoit Blanc was a detective, and damned good one at that. It was those very detective skills that had him invited to the party, a socialite gathering from a previous client who wanted to show off all the jewels in her Rolodex. But no matter his renown, Benoit still learned new things every day.</p><p>Standing in the back of the room, Benoit learned two things in quick succession: Marta Cabrera was a beautiful woman, and he was an idiot. Watching Marta enter the lion’s den of a socialite gathering, the first thing to learn hit like a brick. In all the times he had spoken with Marta, all their conversations over text and their occasional meeting for coffee, somehow it had never occurred to him that she was beautiful. Admirable, yes. Kind-hearted, of course. But after all that time and all those afternoons that became evenings with her trying to teach him Go, he had never realized that when most people looked at Marta, the first thing they saw was beautiful.</p><p>Watching her step into the room, in a dark red dress that fell to the floor in long cascades, hair pulled back with golden feather clips, he was struck by how obvious it was. A fact so obvious he’d missed it entirely until it was practically shoved under his nose, until he watched as other men, younger men, turned and followed Marta’s path into the room like wolves on the hunt.</p><p>And thus, came the second thing he learned: that he was an idiot. Because it wasn’t until he saw how others watched Marta, how they treated her like the newest prize in an old game, that he realized his own opinion was perhaps slightly more complex than mere friendship allowed. He was too old to use the word ‘love’ lightly, but perhaps he could call it a fondness. Benoit was <em>fond</em> of her, and it wasn’t until he saw her step into the room like a queen that he realized his fondness was perhaps just the slightest bit possessive. He did not like how these boys looked at her. He did not like how they glanced at each other, and most of all, he did not like it one bit that he realized he was glowering at them all. <em>Glowering</em>. Like he was permitted a say at all. Marta was her own, and most certainly not his. He had no call for ugly jealousy, aside from the fact that every one of these boys did not deserve her kindness, her smiles, her laughter.</p><p>But they were not boys, was the problem. As he watched Marta make her way through the room, smiling politely and chatting as expected at a gathering of the sort, Benoit was forced to conclude that these were not boys, simply young men. And he, he was old. Not decrepit and frail, at least, but well past the prime of his youth. He was an idiot if he thought he could hold a candle to these young men in Marta’s eye. No, he would stand quietly in the back, as he always did at such events where his attendance was not optional, he would <em>stop glaring</em> at the young men who approached Marta, who made their overtures of interest, and after the evening was concluded, he would go home and perhaps get very drunk. Maybe enough to forget this night ever happened, that he ever looked at Marta Cabrera and found her beautiful, that he ever realized he had a less than platonic fondness for her at all.</p><p>Perhaps not that drunk. Benoit didn’t know if it was possible to get drunk enough to forget that particular realization.</p><p>He was so lost in his stewing and marinating on the impossibilities of being fond of Marta that he hadn’t even realized she was at his elbow until she leaned over and whispered, “If you don’t stop glaring at the floor, the hostess is going to think someone died on her carpet.”</p><p>He blinked, turning to look at her. A smile spread across his face, and he dearly hoped it hid everything else going on behind his eyes. “Marta. A pleasure to see you, and if I may say, you look especially lovely this evening.”</p><p>She glanced down at her dress. “Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much? Alice picked it out, but now I’m not so sure about it.”</p><p>“I think you look beautiful.” And perhaps it came through just a bit, that certain fondness. His voice was rough, though Benoit could give no earthly reason as to why. Marta met gaze, her large hazel eyes meeting his, and Benoit wished he were a better liar. He had no doubt the truth of his feeling was written all over his face.</p><p>But perhaps Marta couldn’t read it. Or perhaps she didn’t want to, but he put that particularly needling thought away for later as she smiled at him, “I’m glad you’re here. My first time to one of these things, I was afraid I wasn’t going to know anyone.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure if you asked around, there’d be many willing to become friends.” Benoit cringed at his words. They sounded bitter even to his ears, and the last thing he needed was Marta questioning what made him so bitter. But she ignored it, huffing a quiet sound of exasperation.</p><p>“I remember the Thrombeys, and I remember their connections. Most of these people wouldn’t know friendship if it bit them in the ass.” Benoit, who had been taking a drink of his scotch, nearly choked on the expletive. Marta almost never used strong language to make her point, but apparently the evening had already brought her to the edge of patience. And her own words turned bitter as she continued, “Most of them wouldn’t talk to me if I hadn’t inherited.”</p><p>“Would you want to talk to them, if you hadn’t inherited?”</p><p>Marta snorted with laughter. “I don’t want to talk to them now. But apparently a previously unknown woman who inherits sixty million dollars after a dramatic suicide, then disappears entirely from the public eye, makes news.”</p><p>“You’ve been contacted for interviews?”</p><p>“’60 Minutes’ wants to make a special. I’m trying to be a little less mysterious. Hopefully, everyone will leave me alone.”</p><p>Benoit frowned. “I hadn’t realized you were being pressured over something. If there’s anything I can do, I'm glad to help."</p><p>Marta nodded, sipping her own drink. “For now, just standing here is helping.”</p><p>“Oh? How so?”</p><p>Marta blushed, looking deep into her glass and tapping her finger against its side. A nervous tick, since shaking her leg was much more difficult to do when standing up. It was strange to see her suddenly so nervous; she had seemed entirely at ease walking through the room, though Benoit knew she was a good actor. Perhaps it was telling him the truth that made her nervous.</p><p>He was about to say that she didn’t have to share if she didn’t want to, but Marta spoke up before he did. “How often do you check the tabloids?”</p><p>Benoit frowned. He hadn’t expected that. “Not often.”</p><p>“I figured. There’s a story they’ve been running with. They have some photos of me from the trial. Going in and out of the court building, things like that.”</p><p>Benoit nodded. There had been a lot of press at the trial, it made sense that someone would have gotten a few pictures of Marta. He had tried to help shield her from it, at least a little bit, but even he couldn’t block every reporter in Boston.</p><p>Marta continued. “Some of the photos of me are of you too, from when we carpooled from the hotel. But the reporters got it turned around, and the story they’ve concocted is that we’re…together.” She swallowed, and Benoit felt his own throat go dry. But Marta kept talking, as if to cut off whatever assurances he had been about to make. “I asked Alan, Harlan’s lawyer, about stopping them, in case it ever was a problem for you, and he said there’s nothing that can be done.”</p><p>“It’s caused me no problems. I wasn’t even aware until now.” Someone was selling the story that he and Marta were together, and people were buying it. People believed Marta would be with him, which was comforting and killing in the same thought.</p><p>Marta nodded, “I hoped it hadn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t make you aware earlier, but since I couldn’t stop it, I hope you don’t mind, but it’s ended up being helpful.”</p><p>“Really?” He doubted that. It had to be hard to date if everyone thought you were already taken.</p><p>“Yes.” She looked out at the room, at the people milling around. Benoit could see one or two young men who were keeping an eye on Marta, but the rest seemed to have found amusement elsewhere. “If people think I’m dating you, it means no one else is trying to date me. It cuts down on the number of offers I need to talk my way out of.”</p><p>Benoit could feel his heart beating double speed in his chest. “I’m glad to be of service.”</p><p>“You don’t mind? That people think we’re…”</p><p>He shook his head. “Not at all.” Perhaps glowering at the room earlier had been helpful after all; it helped sell the act and let everyone know Marta was not available at this moment. But that was selfishness talking. He cleared his throat. “Do you need to make the social rounds? I understand that the productive way to go about these events is to talk to new people, not lurk in dark corners with old ones.”</p><p>“I already talked to everyone. Lurking over here is a much better option than speaking out there, it’s like walking into a fight arena.”</p><p>Benoit couldn’t help but agree. They stood in silence a moment, before Marta leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh. He went stiff and Marta must have felt it, as she shot to standing ramrod straight. “Sorry. Just…thought it would help sell the act.”</p><p>“You just surprised me, is all. I don’t mind.”</p><p>Slowly, so as not to shock him again, Marta leaned on him. The part of him that was an idiot, that had been jealous of these young men, was now preening at how Marta was on his arm and not theirs. Which was idiotic all over again, because Marta was on his arm because he facilitated a convenient lie. It did not necessarily mean she would have chosen here if there were easier options available. But still, it felt good. It had been a long time since someone had leaned on him like this, and it felt good to be needed even in so small a capacity.</p><p>He leaned down, whispering, “In the interest of furthering a convenient falsehood, may I put my hand on your waist?”</p><p>Marta’s voice was breathy, “Yes.”</p><p>His hand slid over the dress, a soft silk that felt like water, until his palm was resting on the curve of Marta’s waist. He could feel her body heat through the fabric. Benoit tried very hard to ignore what that felt like, what it conjured in his mind. Before tonight he had never realized Marta Cabrera was beautiful, and now he had a hand on her waist like he had a right to put it there. Life was nothing if not strange.</p><p>“You know,” Marta mused, “the trial was over almost a week ago.”</p><p>“Mhmm.”</p><p>“And the photos they have, they aren’t going to last forever.”</p><p>Benoit could hear her leading somewhere, and trying to imagine where made him jumpy. “Indeed.”</p><p>“And as far as I can see, there are no photographers here.”</p><p>“There does seem to be a distinct lack.”</p><p>“So I’m thinking, if we wanted to keep the press up to date with their photos, we might need to go on a date.”</p><p>Benoit was barely breathing. He could feel Marta against his side, nervous and still. She was not asking just for press photots.</p><p>“A date, you think? Just one?”</p><p>“If that’s all you want.” Now she was looking up at him, chewing on her lip. Now or never.</p><p>“And if I maybe wanted another date after that?”</p><p>Marta was looking at him and he could see her nerve flicker and die. “Just to be clear, I’m not asking you out because of the photographers.”</p><p>“I’m not asking you out because of the photographers either,” he said. Good Lord, he’d asked her out. He was too old for it to feel as exhilarating as it did.</p><p>But Marta grinned at him, sneaking up on tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Good.”</p><p>With that touch to his cheek, soft as a butterfly, Benoit learned his third thing of the evening: he wanted Marta Cabrera to kiss him again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And thus concludes my posting (Belated) Cablanca Week 2020! I hope everyone had a good time! All of the stories are marked complete because I have no immediate plans to expand any of the stories, but the world is weird and I've done weirder things than update stories marked complete years ago. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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